Eat Your Heart Out Johnny Depp
by clueless in seattle
Summary: Bobby and Alex go undercover...


_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them is motivated only by my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretch the limits of that and totally suspend the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…pity you don't notice the grass needs mowing)_

_**I know we sometimes like to think Bobby is "not like other guys"…but in the right situation with the right provocation are we really so sure his private thoughts and his behaviour would be that much different… **_

****

**EAT YOUR HEART OUT JOHNNY DEPP**

As soon as she had taken their entrance fees the young woman called Jade told them enthusiastically tonight was _"Pirate Night"_ and in the room off to the side there were various pieces of costume and props they could borrow. Free of charge. The first time Bobby Goren had heard that phrase since he and Alex Eames stepped through the door from the street. Once Jade had calculated the various items like _"single night membership (couple)", "bar cover charge", "cloakroom fee"_ and a host of other things including car parking rates Bobby was handed a register receipt longer than the one he got doing a months shopping at Wal-Mart. And left feeling it would have been a more moral use of the money his wallet was now light, to have paid off the international debt of a small foreign country.

But it wasn't the fact it was _"free"_ made his partner squeal in that girlish, untypical and slightly unnerving fashion as he was propelled forwards with a painful jab in his back probably shortened the useful life of his left kidney. It was what he had known since he was six years old and encountered his first at kindergarten. The _"Dressing Up Box"_ which still seemed to exert its magnetic effect. Even on NYPD detectives of the female persuasion really should, at her age anyway, know better.

The trouble with the _"Dressing Up Box"_ at school was that once they had contented themselves that they looked like heroines from Gothic horror novels the girls turned their attentions elsewhere. Namely to the boys and on later reflection about what Kenny Pratt chose to do with his life, the signs were already there. _And perhaps as Kendra these days he still wears his mother's high heels?_ A fate Bobby was spared when he was bullied into compliance because even at that age his feet were too large to fit in them. But _"Doctors and Nurses"_ wasn't so bad and he could usually be persuaded into the white coat as Susan Goldstein smoothed her apron, handed him his bag of bent lunchroom cutlery and stethoscope and encouraged "Dr Bobby" on his round of the patients. By the same method of a punch to the kidney Eames used to get him into the room.

His discomfort with the dressing up game came to a head one day with his second patient that morning. Asking Nurse Goldstein what was wrong with her (which avoided further assaults on his renal system) she had rolled her eyes in the way only anatomically possible when you are born with two X chromosomes. Then pointed to the doll Cindy Taylor was holding in her arms. And "Dr Bobby" certainly hadn't expected his advice _"It's better for the baby if you breastfeed Cindy"_ to result in the hysterical reaction from the two girls.

Who ran straight to Mrs Halliday screaming _"Bobby Goren said a rude word"_ and resulted in a confusing hour where he was variously interrogated by his teacher, the school principal and the psychologist before it all got straightened out. And his confidential file amended from _"potential pervert"_ to _"precocious pedant"_. Needless to say he was never invited by the girls to play doctor again and he had remained nervous about _"Dressing Up Boxes"_ ever since.

As Eames began to flick through the rail faster than a blackjack dealer through a deck in Vegas and rummage through boxes like it was the first day of the Macy's sale, Bobby stood back waiting patiently. It really was easier, not least on the kidneys, to wait to be told what to do in situations like these. Since your opinion, even if it was sought, rarely counted for much. So much for the forty minutes he'd spent selecting his own wardrobe for this evening in order to comply with her instruction _"Try to not to look like a suburban stiff or a scarecrow this time Bobby"_.

It was time totally wasted if his black jeans and a yellow t-shirt with a collar his cleaning lady bought him one Christmas were to disappear under a welter of piratical accessories. Or perhaps not because he always thought the shirt gave him a look of ambiguity about his orientation and that had proved to be the case at a bar in The Village one night. Another of those things which took a little time to get straightened out, something he didn't need and would never happen in the case of the other guy.

He startled as Eames waved something in his direction with that maniacal gleam women get in their eyes when the chance arises to _"style"_ anyone from a new born infant to a granny for her open coffin memorial service. So frightening was it he almost found himself confessing, _"Okay I admit it. It was more like forty seconds not forty minutes I spent picking out clothes. The rest of the time I was watching a baseball game"_.

What difference would it have made anyway? He would still have got that _"Is that the best you can do?"_ look when they met at 1PP. It was another pre-programmed into the female DNA. Forty seconds, minutes, hours, months or even forty years and he still wouldn't get it _"quite right"_ though perhaps by that time Eames would have given up, gone home and let him catch the end of the 2047 World Series.

"Put this on Bobby" she said handing him something in bright blue and gold patterns.

He shook it out and studied it not quite sure what he was supposed to do with a long and narrow strip of fabric. _Fashion it into a loincloth maybe?_

"Round your waist" came the inevitable supplementary instruction always said between clenched teeth.

Though it was at least useful on this occasion as he did as he was told and waited for Alex to do something similar with one in black and white. Assuming or rather hoping that short, tight, red leather skirt was a hangover from her days in the Vice Squad. If not, was it any wonder she complained frequently _"Men get the wrong idea about me all the time Bobby"_. Perhaps the Vice Squad had the equivalent of a _"Dressing Up Box"?_ In which case and with his history it explained why he'd never been assigned there and didn't ever want to be thank you.

"No not like that" Alex said seizing the material and pulling it with such force both his kidneys were crushed this time as he was jerked around like a puppet on a string "It's supposed to be a waistband Bobby. Worn with flair and panache not tied round like you like an old fishing boat moored to the dock"

She wrapped it, looped it and threaded it through and fussed the folds at his side like it was the drapes in the Oval Office the day the Pope dropped in for tea. At least those years of slaps up the side of the head and told to _"Stand still Bobby"_ when his mother was fitting him for things had paid off. He stood like Lots wife until Eames was done.

Then she handed him a plastic flintlock pistol and told him to put that in his waistband.

He took a deep breath and risked it "Eames? Can I have a sword instead of this?"

He'd recover from the dislocated finger he got thanks to it being stuck in the trigger guard when it was snatched from him and a sword thrust in his hand. One turned out to be wooden, not properly sanded down and resulting in a splinter in his dislocated finger.

"Serves you right" muttered his partner beginning to search amongst the headgear as he sucked the splinter out quietly.

Eames placed on her head a huge brimmed black hat with sufficient feathers to suggest a whole flock of ostriches were sacrificed to the cause of millinery. Turned side-to-side studying herself in it.

"What do you think Bobby?"

He was tempted to say _"You tell me. It's safer that way"_ but his testosterone and adrenalin levels must be running high tonight as the words "It's…er…possibly…um…a bit on the large side Eames" came out of his lips.

"Are you saying my head looks fat in this?" she muttered ominously

"No. The hat. It's too…too wide"

"Hmm. We'll see" she handed a red and white chequered cloth to him "Put this on your head"

Goren folded it into a triangle, put it on and tied two ends under his chin as his partner sorted through another box.

"You are supposed to look like a pirate Bobby. How many Amish were there on pirate ships?" every syllable and word was enunciated with agonising clarity "I wish you would take this seriously"

He put it on another way. 

"No. Too Hulk Hogan"

He tried again.

"No. You look like you had brain surgery"

After six attempts each dismissed for one reason or other Eames gave up, took the cloth from him and told him he didn't have to wear it. It was a minor victory on his part as the phrase _"Sttttrrrike one to me"_ passed through his mind.

"Let's try some earrings" she said reaching up, the brim of her hat catching on his shoulder and getting knocked askew.

She set it straight and tried again. With the same result as the hat fell over her eyes. Four times it happened but still hoping to be a father one day and not willing to endanger the anatomy essential to achieve that, the words _"I told you so" _did not pass his lips.

"Bend your knees Bobby" she snapped removing the hat from her head and jamming it on his so hard he'd probably require orthopaedic surgery to deal with the crushed vertebrae in his spine.

"Eames" he said "Can't I have a smaller earring? That looks like it came off the anchor chain of an aircraft carrier"

"Stop fidgeting"

"Argh" he yelled as the clip-on earring sprung closed with the force of a bear trap round his right lobe "Oh shit that hurts"

"Don't be such a wuss Bobby"

"My ear is going numb"

Eames looked at him as tears of pain welled in the corner of his eye "You also look ridiculous"

_Like it was his idea in the first place?_

The pain of her pulling it off was twice as bad as her putting it on, made him bite his lip not to scream, took several layers of skin off his ear and left it looking like chopped liver.

"You don't suit earrings Bobby"

"Do you have anything in a small diamond stud?" he enquired politely "I always had…um…a sort of…er…fancy for one of those"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Occasional confidences like that had led to strange rumours beginning to circulate in the past. And according to the contract cleaners at 1PP some poems of an especially lurid nature appearing on the ladies rest room walls. Featuring him and written in purple indelible marker pen.

"With that shirt?" she scoffed "It's the wrong sort of club for that look. We're not in The Village now Bobby. You never learn do you?"

"_But one day I'll find out which female detectives own a purple marker pen"_ he thought darkly as what he said was "What's in that box?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with" Eames replied finding a more suitable hat that wasn't as wide as the Brooklyn Bridge.

Bobby knew it was called a _"tricorn"_ but he wasn't about to risk any more parts of his anatomy by revealing another of those bizarre facts he knew occasionally had relevance. Not at a time like this.

But he knew he was living dangerously as he ignored the instruction and began to sort through the box.

"This looks fun" he said slipping his hand into a device made it look like he'd had it amputated and now had a hook in its place

"Taking up crotchet?" she said

"Or this?" he asked finding a second, putting it on and holding them both up

"Now you look like a coat rack" Eames tone dripped the kind of scorn he was sure they gave away free with every bra. Though having wrestled with his share of bras down the years Goren could only imagine, in a purely abstract way of course, what they must be like to wear. Enough to make anyone scornful for life.

"And leave that crutch alone Bobby" she snapped proving yet again women do have eyes in the back of their heads.

His hand or rather his hook was snatched away like the thing was white hot and it was sheer luck he didn't take his own eye out. Though it would give him more justification for wearing that idiotic eye patch than Eames had.

"Take this parrot"

"It's not a parrot Eames" he said inspecting the plumage "It's a male cockatoo"

"Even better. Now shove it down the front of your pants"

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes again "So if anyone makes a grab at your crotch that's the only cock they can get hold of. Now hurry up"

He winced as three more months went off the life of his kidney.

As they left the room to enter the bar Bobby resolved that next time somebody got themselves killed in a "wife swapping" club he'd make damn sure the case went to SVU. Elliot Stabler enjoyed this kind of work.

_**AN :**__ I am NOT employed by NYPD at 1PP and nor do I own an indelible purple marker pen_


End file.
